


Cut the Rope

by Haunted_Obsidian



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Gen, trigger warning - eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:26:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3823729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haunted_Obsidian/pseuds/Haunted_Obsidian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt from the Daredevil kink meme:</p>
<p>Matt starves himself as a form of self-flagellation. He knows it hurts the people around him and makes him less effective at fighting crime, which leads to more guilt which feeds the disorder.</p>
<p>Foggy figured it out years ago and when something sets it off again, Karen catches on too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cut the Rope

It starts again after that little girl. 

Even after he walks away from her father, knuckles bloodied but thankfully not broken, there’s still a pull in his chest. An ache that nothing can dull except…

Two weeks later, he’s as hollow as he ever was. A pale shell on the outside, and a broken man on the inside. Foggy invites him out for lunch, and he reluctantly goes, all the while knowing better. When he only drinks water, Foggy doesn’t mention it. They talk about their future, but not a word is spoken about the lunch that goes unordered. Matt tries to hide the revulsion he feels when the smell of food hits him from the kitchen. Bile lunges up in his throat, and he dreadfully chokes it back down. But he has to go, has to get out of there. He hurries off, lying about some appointment he has to get to and that he’ll talk to Foggy later (he doesn’t, not until the next day because they can’t go twenty-four hours without seeing or talking to each other). 

He gets as far away from that restaurant as he can, and heads home, to the apartment that’s just as empty as he is. 

He goes out that night, angry as ever at the assholes that continue to rob, rape, and murder in his city. He takes out a would-be mugger, and a domestic abuser before the adrenaline wears off and he’s shaking so hard that he can barely stand. He pushes on though, like the idiot that he is (he refuses to stop and knows that it’ll get him hurt, but it’s not enough, it’s _never_ enough).

There’s a gang taunting a couple two blocks away, and he runs as fast as he can, the shadows cloaking his movement. He gets there within a minute or two, but there’s a problem. His chest is heaving, and his heartbeat, _his_ heartbeat is pounding in his ears. A moment of panic seizes his body as all of his other senses become dull. He can still hear, faintly the couple’s footsteps clacking against the pavement, leaving him alone to deal with five very angry men that no longer have mice to play with. 

On one hand, he’s glad that he’s the center of attention now, but on the other, he _knows_ he’s fucked. He tries desperately to reign his senses in and get a hold on them, but his heart is still thumping against his rib cage. So hard, in fact, that he doesn’t even realize the first punch is coming until the flesh of his jaw is pushed back into his teeth. His body flies back, straight into a brick wall, but he shakes it off and gets into a defensive stance. He knows he’s not leaving this fight without a new scar, but he just chocks it up to being an occupational hazard. 

It takes every bit of energy he has to fight them off, and fifteen minutes later after he’s put the last one out of commission, he staggers home, leaving a small trail of blood behind in his wake. 

He sleeps on the floor that night, at the foot of his steps because as much as he wanted to make it to at least the couch, his body tells him otherwise and he collapses to the floor in a heap, passing out in pain with his stomach acid gurgling deep in his belly being the last sound he hears.

***  
Two more weeks pass, and the final straw comes (in a long line of final straws because it never does quite end). 

He hasn’t eaten in three days, and he knows it’s starting to show (it’s been showing for awhile, but he won’t admit it, not even to himself). He’s over at Foggy’s apartment, pretending to be interested in the Yankees game that’s on, but the only thing that’s on his mind is going out and protecting those that can’t protect themselves. 

It’s foolish, really, when he thinks about it later, that standing up too fast could would be the straw that breaks the camel’s theoretical back. 

He’s not quite sure how long he’s been passed out, but when he comes to, the sound of Foggy’s pounding heart is what meets his ears first. He tries to play it off like it’s nothing, but before he can even utter a word and sit up fully, Foggy’s right there by his side with a plate in hand, sandwich resting atop of it. “Eat, Matt. _Please_ ,” Foggy quietly begs, and the guilt that Matt feels hits him harder than the three-hundred pound Mexican he fought the night before. He sighs, and reluctantly accepts the offering, though as much as he tries to, he can’t eat it all. He manages to choke down half of it before he wants to vomit it right back up. For his friend’s sake though, he holds it down, but sets the plate back on the coffee table and pushes it as far away from him as he can. “That’s a start,” Foggy mutters, more to himself than Matt, and Matt doesn’t say anything, just bows his head in shame. 

***  
He tries, he truly does, but some demons just don’t unlatch themselves from you. 

It starts again after Mrs. Cardenas is murdered, and only gets worse after Ben dies. Sure, they put Fisk behind bars, but once again, it’s just not enough. 

_It’s never going to be enough_.

He starts to skip meals one by one, and eventually, they start to add up. He can feel the gauntness of his face when he runs his hand across his cheek, so instead of shaving, he lets the stubble grow out, hoping that maybe, it might hide the cheekbones that are starting to become prominent once again. He ignores the fact that his belt is now latched on its last hole, and goes on like it’s nothing.

He’s the last one into the office that morning (he can hear Karen asking Foggy if he wants coffee, the man’s natural response being an incredulous, “Who doesn’t?”). His body is sluggish though, and it feels like it takes twenty minutes trudge up the steps that usually only take one to two minutes to walk up. He makes it to the door and has to pause because his head is fucking spinning, and damn, if he can’t even remember the last time he ate. He takes in a few deep breaths and forces his hands to stop shaking (ha, they don’t) before he enters the office, Foggy and Karen still bantering away. They stop when they realize he’s there. 

“Morning, buddy!” Foggy calls out, and a smile eases onto Matt’s face even though he can hear the worry in those two words. 

Karen’s not as confident when she speaks. “Do you want some coffee? I-I even grabbed some donuts from that place over on 10th and West 44th on my way in this morning. You know - the one with the double chocolate long johns.” Matt can hear the hope in her voice, and he feels his chest sink when he agrees to the coffee but politely declines the donuts because Karen sounds so damned disappointed when she says, “Oh, okay, well, coffee coming right up then!” He bites his bottom lip as hard as he can get away with, and heads into his part of the office, closing the door behind him. He walks over to his desk, and all but falls onto the seat of his office chair. He’s exhausted, but there’s work to be done, so he pushes past the fatigue and boots up his laptop. He’s about to put on his headphones when he hears Foggy and Karen speaking once more. His attempt to not eavesdrop fails, and miserably at that. 

“I know that you’re worried, Karen, _I_ am too, but Matt’s…well, Matt.”

“That’s not very comforting, Foggy,” Karen replies, a shakiness in her voice that wasn’t present before. 

“No, it’s not, but it’s the truth. Matt’s the most stubborn person I know, and nothing you or I do is going to change that.”

“Foggy, he could kill himself if he keeps this up!” she states in a hushed whisper. “Have you even looked at him lately? He looks like he’s lost at least fifteen, if not twenty pounds. And we both know he didn’t need to in the first place.” She’s angry too, he can tell because the plastic spoon she’s using is clinging loudly against the mug she’s just poured sugar in.

“He hasn’t before-“

“Before? You mean to tell me he’s done this _before_?” And Matt feels even worse. He puts his head in his hands, but continues to listen.

“Well, sort of, yes,” Foggy admits. “But he always snaps out of it eventually.”

“What if eventually is too late this time?” Karen counters, and folds her arms across her chest. 

“It won’t be,” Foggy responds, trying to sound convincing but failing greatly. “It won’t be,” he repeats underneath his breath, and Matt feels tears pricking at his eyes now. He steels himself, and forces their voices out of his head. He can’t listen to them anymore. It hurts too fucking much. And he hates himself because he knows he’s the cause of their pain and worry this time. 

A few minutes later, Karen knocks lightly on his door, and he tells her to come in. 

“Here you go,” she says, with a smile on her face and a forced cheerfulness in her voice as she sets the cup of coffee down near his hand.

“Thanks, Karen,” he murmurs distractedly, fingers flying over the electronic Braille reader in front of him. 

“You’re welcome,” she replies and heads back out of the room, shutting the door behind her. 

He sighs once she’s gone, and shakes his head. Sitting next to the cup of coffee is a donut (he smelled it as soon as she opened the door). His stomach is growling, but he knows he deserves it. He deserves to feel the hunger that eats away at him day after day. He deserves to feel that hallow ache in his chest that’s left him stricken and vacant, like an old abandoned house.

He wishes that he was stronger, but he knows he’s as weak as he’ll ever be. He carefully wraps up the sugary confection in the napkin she left with it and throws it in the trash. 

He’ll stop this eventually. 

But he knows no matter how hard he tries, it’ll never truly end. 

Guilt is just too bittersweet a companion.


End file.
